There is a moment when a political career shifts from public service to self-preservation. It is subtle at first and isn’t easily spotted. But if you roll back the clock, hit replay, and look hard enough, you’ll see that the once undetectable, once inconceivable, is loudly and palpably exposed and can no longer be ignored. Maybe it is a recycled speech, a tired line, or a rehashed press release, but the truth becomes unavoidable and inescapable—the job you once longed for, the job you would have killed for, has overtaken you. Time has burnt the sharp edges as you begin to fade into political oblivion. Time for last call.
In my observations of the political atmosphere that date back to 1984, I’ve noticed we like the familiar and we like repetition. We take comfort in our daily routines of ordering the same food from the same restaurants, backing the same county committee folk, singing the same political tunes. But in case you missed it, the voters of today are not a content if you don’t change your tune with them and simply think you can mail it in.
Life in politics is moving faster—half cycles and quarter cycles are now in play. Terms of service are measured in mere years rather than decades. There is no longer a birthright or an entitlement to a long-held office. Longevity is for those who get things done and those who take care of business.
We all start our political careers with a bright fire, but over time that fire begins to show an ever so slight fade. At first, most are blind to this dimming. At some point, it becomes a chore to do the basics of your role like follow up with a nagging constituent service when in years past you would have leapt at the opportunity. It is at this inflection point where your exit becomes inevitable.
The longer you stay, the more you will find yourself defending your seat and your actions from the backfoot. Any Pop Warner player can tell you that you never win the big game playing defensively. There are signs to look for when you’ve already taken the turn. When you have suddenly morphed into believing that you deserve the job—not yearn for it. When you justify inaction and just exist in your role when you used to run, literally run, to the legislative office. You can see it in the eyes, the voice gives way, the lack of energy and lack of fight shows. You coast, float, and hope to live through another election cycle. That isn’t living, that is slowly dying.
When you start the path towards your failure to lead, failure to inspire, failure to summon up a pro game, it is time for last call. There is a courage in last call—in pulling the plug before it gets pulled for you. Serving and stepping down is true public service, it is honest, it is meaningful and it makes your legacy more meritorious and more everlasting. Having the self-awareness and humility to feel the winds change in time for last call allows you to leave on your terms and all but foreclose the all-too-familiar messy fall from grace.
Public service is loaned to us, not given. I have seen way too many legislators and mayors break the cardinal rule and stay too long. It is painful and sad. As if the 4th or 5th term will finish all outstanding items that you failed to accomplish in the terms prior. The truth is for some, their punch lists will never be completed. What used to be job security is now a calling card for political hospice. As Bob Dylan summoned it up, the times they are A-changin’.
Time for last call and we each need to be aware of it.
